


i fear no fate (for you are my fate)

by sameboots



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Post-War, brienne is kind of bad at people, but written pre-season 8, character death (but neither of our heroes), flangst, jaime has some trauma, post-season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 10:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18636544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sameboots/pseuds/sameboots
Summary: The war is over and Daenerys Targaryen sits on the Iron Throne. Brienne makes a bargain to save Jaime's life by convincing Daenerys to exile him to Tarth. A story of two people damaged by war and damaged by loss trying to piece themselves back together.--"Forgive me for the impertinence, but he looks at you as if you are the light at the end of a very long tunnel."Brienne could feel it. That horrid creeping hope that made her limbs feel as if they were no longer connected to her body, the light-headed rush of want. Not want of his body or even want of touch, but the want of being loved, of being cherished, the want of someone to live her life with, of someone to see her and not turn away, but draw closer. She couldn't bring herself to respond, instead gripping the stone balcony in front of her."And you," the advisor took a breath, leaning next to her, "you look at him as if he is your respite in a storm."





	i fear no fate (for you are my fate)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dollsome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/gifts).



> This is for my buddy dollsome. I posted a "mood board" on tumblr upon her request. She then deemed this mood board to be Jaime's vision board of his future on Tarth. [You can see the vision board here.](https://agirlnamedkeith.tumblr.com/post/184347251145/jaime-and-brienne-on-tarth-after-the-war-as) It was then decided that in order to fully realize Jaime's vision board dream, I should probably definitely write post-war almost everyone lives and Jaime goes to Tarth with Brienne fic. And thus!
> 
> Also, not that it really matters, but if you want to know what Tarth looks like in my head, google the Faroe Islands and the Isle of Skye and just imagine they had a slightly more temperate baby!

**Spring - Year 1**

  


When Queen Daenerys stared him down from her perch on the Iron Throne, in the hollowed out remnants of what was once a palace, Brienne knew she would execute him. There was no escape for the Kingslayer, not even with his contributions to a war that seated her on that gods-be-damned seat. Brienne owed Jaime a debt, several times over. It was nothing for her to step forward, to put herself between Jaime and the Queen, even as Jaime protested and tried to catch her by the arm. 

  


"Your Grace," she said. "I have spoken for Ser Jaime once before. I will do so again now. He not only defended Winterfell and its peoples, all of the people of Westeros, from the army of the dead, he further defended your reign when challenged by his own family." She could feel Jaime staring at her, burning holes in the back of her neck. "Has he not earned some leniency?" 

  


"I cannot allow a man who has so injured my family to remain," Daenerys said plainly, coldly. 

  


"Then allow me to take him."

  


Brienne could see the confusion in the shift and furrow of the Queen's brows. 

  


"I'm afraid I don't understand your meaning, Lady Brienne."

  


" _ Ser  _ Brienne," Brienne corrected, for one heated moment disregarding the stupidity of correcting a Queen on her pedestal. "What I meant, Your Grace, is that I be allowed to take Ser Jaime as my --" she hesitated, glancing back at Jaime for just a moment, hoping he would understand her meaning. "I would take him as my prisoner. I pledge to keep him on Tarth under my command and watchful eye for the rest of his days or until a time you have deemed his penance adequate."

  


"What would be adequate penance for breaking his solemn vow in order to  _ slaughter _ my father?" 

  


"I would not know," Brienne responded. "But I would still request that he be put into my possession for the remainder of his life." 

  


Queen Daenerys stared at her, that blank face that she frequently employed to intimidate her subjects. But Brienne was not so easily intimidated. Brienne had faced certain death more than once, and while she knew Jaime's life currently hung in the balance, a mere look from the Queen would not be enough to cow her. 

  


"Very well," the Queen finally relented. "But should he ever leave Tarth, if he should escape your custody, I will not hesitate to exact justice for his crimes."

  


Brienne nodded sharply. "I understand, Your Grace, and I thank you for the consideration." 

  


Brienne bowed before leaving the room, her eyes briefly catching Jaime's, unable to read the stormy expression in his eyes before she was gone. 

  


\--

  


Jaime was led on board the ship in chains. Brienne felt nauseated at the sight of it. To see Jaime, someone who had earned the respect of everyone, treated like the worst sort of criminal. When he looked at her, his face was devoid of expression, as if he didn't see her. However, he looked away from her so quickly, she knew that was not the case. He just didn't want to. 

  


"Remove his shackles," Brienne barked at the nearest guard. He hesitated and she bristled at the disrespect. " _ Now _ ." 

  


"Of course, milady," the guard said. 

  


Jaime shook out his arms once the chains were removed, staring contemptuously at the guard. When he finally looked at Brienne, his face carefully neutral, all he said was, "Will my hand be returned to me?"

  


"Of course," she said. She nodded to the guard, indicating he should retrieve the hand. "If there is anything you need, you only need ask." 

  


Jaime nodded. "Thank you, my lady." He said it tonelessly and rather like he didn't believe a word of it. 

  


Brienne was at a loss for what to do with this version of Jaime, this empty vessel of the man she knew. She fell back on her most comfortable actions and nodded at him once before seeing to the rest of the boarding process, leaving Jaime standing listlessly on the deck. 

  


\--

  


Jaime didn't speak to her for the entire trip to Tarth, except to respond to direct questions with detached courtesy. Brienne had never cursed her social awkwardness more. She couldn't find a way to reach Jaime. She wondered if the man he once was even existed beneath that calm exterior. 

  


Things did not improve upon their landing. Tarth was as she remembered and, somehow, more beautiful all at the same time. The craggy cliffs and rolling green hills, the sharp peaks of mountains and thundering of waterfalls were comforting in a way she would never have believed when she first left. While Brienne could do nothing more than breathe the fresh air after the suffocating stench of King's Landing,  Jaime seemed determined to remain behind the closed door of his chambers, except for meal times, when he sat in the Great Hall and ate silently by himself. Brienne considered inviting him to dine with her at the head table, but she worried about the impression inviting her prisoner to dine in a place of honor would give to the people of Tarth. Her position as Evenstar was so new, so delicate, she was loath to do anything questionable. She was the first woman to rule Tarth, the first woman to be knighted in the seven kingdoms, and occasionally, Brienne wished she weren't quite so singular. 

  


She decided that perhaps he was bored, being unfamiliar with Tarth and its people, and perhaps concerned about his reputation and the reactions he would garner if he were to venture outside the castle walls. Brienne invited him to visit the village and tenant farms with her. She knew it was important to build a relationship of trust with the people of Tarth. 

  


"Are you sure that's a good idea, my lady?" Jaime asked her. 

  


In truth, she wasn't. It was no secret that Jaime came to Tarth as her prisoner, even if it wasn't quite the truth in Brienne's view. 

  


"I wouldn't ask if I were not sure," she said. 

  


Jaime nodded and dutifully readied himself for their trip, outfitting himself in the nicest clothing he had brought with him and strapping the golden hand to his arm. 

  


If Brienne were to be kind, she would say that Jaime was distracted during the trip. If Brienne were to be honest, she would say that Jaime was sullen to the point of being just shy of outright rude. Brienne finally took him aside.

  


"Would you like to return to the castle with one of the guards?" she asked. 

  


"No, my lady," Jaime said, not even meeting her eyes. 

  


"What is  _ wrong _ with you?" Brienne hissed so that she didn't shout, so that the villagers could not overhear. 

  


Finally, Jaime looked her in the eyes, his jaw tightening and a glint like a knife's edge in his expression.

  


"Nothing," he said sharply, sarcastically, ironically. Brienne wanted to scream, to shake him, to make him just tell her how to bring him back. 

  


She missed Jaime. She missed the man that had become her right-hand in leading the troops. She missed the man that knighted her, that held her in such esteem that he was willing to break with centuries of tradition to give her the one thing she had longed for in the deepest recesses of her heart. She missed the man that looked her in the eyes as he refused to take back the priceless sword, promised her it was hers to keep with a softness she could not name, did not want to consider. 

  


She drew herself up straight, shoulders back and chin set stubbornly. 

  


"Then I would request that you be a bit more mannerly to the citizens of Tarth," she said. With that, she walked away from him. 

  


\--

  


Brienne tried to draw Jaime out of whatever mire he was in. She requested more often that he join her in her daily activities. She enjoyed walking the grounds around Evenfall, particularly after a long meeting with her advisors left her feeling out of her depth. She tried to engage him in a conversation, pointing out specific landmarks as they went, sharing the few good memories of her childhood. Jaime had responded to these attempts with either disinterest or a litany of complaints. First, the air was too wet and chilled for an island so far south. Second, that the naturally rocky ground, barely covered in a mossy sort of grass, was impossible to walk upon unless one wanted to be injured in a ghastly fall. Third, that an island with so few trees, and so little wildlife to speak of, was surely not worthy of such a trek. 

  


However, Brienne managed to keep her temper in check until he said, "Maybe if you were to shackle me again and lead me around on a rope, this would at least be interesting. I am, after all, once again your prisoner to do with as you please." 

  


Brienne stopped dead in her tracks. Jaime continued ambling on, the constant stream of complaints still spilling from him. It didn't take him long to realize that Brienne was no longer beside him. She waited until he turned to her, confusion wrinkling his brow. 

  


"Did you want me to let you  _ die _ ?" she asked him. She was truly at the end of her patience with him. She had given him so many liberties with the way he spoke to her, about her home, about the safe space she had attempted to provide for him. "If I had known that, I would have left you there and saved us both the past weeks of aggravation and unhappiness."

  


For a moment, she would swear he looked like she punched him in the gut. 

  


"Forgive me," she began, but he interrupted her. 

  


"No," he said, a heavy weight to his tone. "I believe I'm the one that should be begging forgiveness." He looked distinctly uneasy. Brienne waited for him to continue, not willing to give him the out as she'd originally attempted. "I have not said it before, so let me say it now: thank you. I was unworthy and have been unworthy of your protection and defense of my character.

  


"I would love to say that my mood will improve from this moment forward, but I cannot." Jaime walked until he was standing much closer to her. "I don't know who I am,  _ what _ I am," he said, desperately. His eyes sought some confirmation in her own face. "I once thought that losing my swordhand was the loss of my identity. If I had only known." 

  


"Ser Jaime," she began. 

  


He halted her with a sharp, "I'm no longer a Ser," that echoed like a rebuke in the silence. "I am no longer a knight. I have no title, no lands, no money, no family, no  _ purpose _ . I have become even worse than an idle lord, Brienne." 

  


For the first time, she could see the pain etched deep in him. She wanted to reach out to him, to provide some comfort that would ease the desperation. But she had always felt at a loss in these moments. These moments built for women that had been taught kindness, who had ever been shown a modicum of it. Not for women like Brienne, who were forced to enclose themselves in walls of protection, to make themselves an impenetrable statue. 

  


"I have no idea what I'm to do with with my days," he said, his chest deflating like every bit of air had fallen from his sails. "I'm an unkind,  _ useless _ excuse for a man these days. But I should never have taken it out on you. Nor on the place that you call your home. Please, forgive me, my lady."

  


"Of course," she replied. She thought his face relaxed just minutely. "You have been --" she searched for the right thing to say, unsure of how to make her words softer, kinder, comforting. "You have been unkind. But you are not useless. We will find you a purpose, but you have to allow for it. I cannot help you if you won't even speak with me civilly," she hesitated before finishing, "Jaime."

  


The miserable line of his mouth softened into something hinting at a smile. For the first time in the weeks Jaime had been on Tarth, Brienne let herself think they might be able to work together again.

  


\--

**Summer - Year 1**

  


Jaime's attitude seemed to improve from that day. It came in fits and starts, but the overall trajectory was much improved. If nothing else, he stopped treating Brienne like his gaoler and Tarth like a prison. The next time Brienne took him with her to meet with the tenants of Evenfall, Jaime engaged with the people. He asked, shockingly, pertinent, if not lacking a bit in knowledge, questions about their crops and animals. Brienne couldn't have stopped the soft, fond smile hinting at the corners of her mouth even if she wanted to. 

  


Jaime turned to her to comment on something the latest tenant had shared, but he seemed to stop short at the expression on her face, something wary and hopeful in his eyes. He seemed to remember himself a moment later, sharing what he had learned from the farmer. 

  


It continued this way for several hours, Jaime speaking with the easy charm he possessed in droves and Brienne lacked in equal measure. He ingratiated himself with everyone from Kings to bastards as easily as he breathed. An idea blossomed within Brienne, so obvious she despaired it had not been more obvious weeks prior. 

  


It was on the ride back to Evenfall that Brienne requested Jaime to remain beside her while her guards rode ahead of them, close enough they did not feel remiss in their duties, but far enough they would not be in earshot if this went sideways. 

  


"There is something I would request of you," Brienne said to him, looking steadfastly ahead. 

  


"Yes, my lady?"

  


"It occurs to me that Ser Goodwin is not the young man he once was. As the Evenstar, I no longer have the luxury of as much spare time as I once did. It would be appreciated if you would consider helping train the young men and women of Tarth." 

  


"Do you often arm prisoners and task them with training up soldiers?" Jaime asked her. 

  


She pulled her horse up short, angling just so that she could look him in the eye squarely as he halted his own steed beside her. "I thought we understood one another," she said, a terrible fog of emotion suffocating her chest. "You are not my prisoner, Jaime. Yes, I had to bring you here as one. But I did it to save you. You are not to be chained in some darkened cell. We are far from the eyes of King's Landing and the Queen. We are uninteresting enough with few enough resources that she never need bother us." Jaime had the decency to look at least a little chagrined. "I know you do not have the freedom to move away from here, that it chafes at you, but I would have you view yourself as my guest."

  


"Of course," Jaime agreed, a pleased expression softening his features, something in his face sending a flush of warmth through her being. He pulled his shoulders back and sat straighter in his saddle. "I would be honored to serve you in whatever way you need. Though, I fear I am not as practiced as I once was."

  


"You survived the Army of the Dead and the Siege of King's Landing with your off-hand and no small measure of determination," Brienne said. "Your mind is as keen as ever and your training has surely not deserted you. I don't need you to be the most talented swordsman in Westeros, Jaime. I only need you to be willing." 

  


He quirked an eyebrow at her, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes she had not seen in years. A blush creeped along her neck and cheeks. 

  


"Willing to assist in the training," she all but mumbled and spurred her horse to continue away from Jaime and his unsettling expression. 

  


\--

**Autumn  - Year 1**

  


Brienne smiled down at the training yard from the balcony surrounding the inner square. Jaime was adjusting the grip of a young boy around his training sword, guiding his arm into a better position. His mouth was moving, but she couldn't hear the words from this distance. However, she could see the way the boy looked at him with a sort of reverence and respect that she knew Jaime would never be able to acknowledge to himself. 

  


Jaime had taken to being sword master like a fish to water. There was something nearly paternal about his interactions with his trainees, a patience and gentle sternness that quickly had the boys, girls, and the young men and women listening with rapt attention to every correction and suggestion. It wasn't fear guiding their respect, but a genuine desire to learn from one of the greatest swordsman Westeros had ever known.

  


Brienne glanced sideways as one of her small council joined her at the balcony, looking down upon the training session. 

  


"He will make an excellent Lord of Evenfall, my lady," he said. Brienne's heart stopped in her chest, a feeling like cat's claws raking her insides. "The people already respect him and will grow to view him with the same affection they feel for their Evenstar."

  


"You are mistaken," Brienne choked out, her throat tight against the words, against the feeling rising from her gut. "Jaime and I are not --" she couldn't bring herself to say the words 'together', 'courting', 'betrothed', any of the words to finish that sentence. "There is no understanding between the two of us," she finally said, feeling hopelessly out of her depth. 

  


"My lady," the advisor said, "do I have your permission to speak freely?" Brienne nodded sharply, dreading the words to follow but unwilling to be the sort of ruler who would not let her advisors speak frankly with her. "I am not a young man. I have seen both happy and unhappy alliances made between houses. But I have rarely seen the sort of connection as I do between yourself and our new Master of Arms. Forgive me for the impertinence, but he looks at you as if you are the light at the end of a very long tunnel." 

  


Brienne could feel it. That horrid creeping hope that made her limbs feel as if they were no longer properly connected to her body, the light-headed rush of  _ want _ . Not want of his body or even want of touch, but the want of being loved, of being cherished, the want of someone to live her life with, of someone that saw her and didn't turn away, but drew closer. She couldn't bring herself to respond, instead gripping the stone balcony in front of her. 

  


"And you," the advisor took a breath, leaning next to her, "you look at him like he is your respite in a storm." 

  


Brienne closed her eyes tightly against the humiliation and embarrassment that she was so transparent, so obvious to the men whose respect she so desperately needed.

  


"We all want our Evenstar to find herself settled and happy in a marriage," he continued, "if it is what she desires. There will be no judgment from any front, my lady. We trust in your honor and integrity. If you trust the Lannister, your people will follow and believe in your choice of companion. Do not let the past and the reasons he came to be here prevent you from the future you so desire."

  


With that, he was gone, and Brienne felt as if she had been shoved from a cliff. 

  


\--

  


It took Brienne several days before she would allow herself to observe the training again. She had ignored the feeling that burbled beneath the surface, the way she was drawn to Jaime each day, the pleasure of watching him in his element. The knowledge that she was so obvious, that everyone in the court had some fantastical idea about the nature of her relationship with Jaime made her feel exposed in ways she thought she had moved past. 

  


Still, she found she could not keep away entirely, much to her embarrassment. She watched until Jaime dismissed his young charges to their dinner. He looked up and caught her eye, the kind smile he had for the trainees tilting into something that made Brienne's heart beat queerly. 

  


"May I have this dance?" Jaime lifted his sword and his eyebrows. 

  


Brienne's heart fluttered, but she unsheathed Oathkeeper and took her stance. Jaime truly grinned then, broad and open-mouthed.

  


Their swords clashed and Brienne's brain turned fully to the duel, no space left for anything more than the thrill of Valyrian steel on Valyrian steel, the freedom of a sparring session with a talented swordsman. Brienne was slightly out of practice, or at least out of battle readiness shape. Her attention had been so occupied with learning how to rule Tarth that she didn't have as much time to keep her skills honed. She was still stronger than Jaime, but the victory was much more hard-earned than it would have been even a few weeks prior. When she finally disarmed him, he stumbled to his knees and her sword was at his throat. 

  


"Do you yield?" she questioned him. 

  


The look on his face as he gazed up at her made Brienne glad that she was already flushed from exertion. The rush of blood in her veins was different from that brought on by the exercise. It was the sort that flooded her skin red from cheeks to chest, the sort that pooled hot and low in her abdomen. He looked penitent and gloriously sinful all in the same moment. 

  


"I yield," Jaime said, somehow his tone sounded husky and rough, something like a promise in the words. 

  


\--

  


**Winter - Year 1**

  


Brienne watched him from a distance. Jaime was sitting near the edge of one of the cliffs gazing out over the Straits of Tarth, looking a million miles away as the sea breeze ruffled his hair. She debated for too long whether or not she should interrupt him and he must have sensed her presence because he turned to find her standing behind him. He didn't look like he wanted her to go away, but neither did he beckon her. 

  


She walked up to him slowly, in case he decided to dismiss her. He didn't and she folded herself to sit next to him, her eyes trained on the water as well. 

  


"Did you want to be alone?" she asked quietly.

  


He took a moment to think about it. 

  


"I thought I did," he said. "But now I find the idea has lost its appeal." 

  


"I used to come out here," Brienne offered, "when things were too much, when I got overwhelmed by the chatter and the laughter and the reproaches. It's peaceful." 

  


"Yes," he agreed. "I needed the quiet."

  


"Truly, Jaime," she said, "I will leave you be. I didn't intend to interrupt." 

  


"No," he said quickly. "Please, stay." 

  


They sat in silence, watching the gulls sweep along, diving to catch fish. The waves crashed against the cliffs below, a steady rhythm she never tired of. Brienne knew something was eating at Jaime. Since the first several weeks of his sullen silence, he had once again become the man she remembered. His sly tongue seemed to lose some of its edge where she was concerned, but he was still more likely to tease and joke with her than not. To find him contemplative and quiet brought a lump of fear into her throat.

  


"Would you --" she hesitated, trying to find the correct words, wanting to draw him out before he locked himself away again. "Would you like to tell me what brought you out here?" 

  


"I know I couldn't save her," he said. Brienne didn't have to ask whom he meant. "Not just at the end. She was lost to me long before those final moments. You would think that knowing she would've executed me for treason would make the aftermath easier."

  


"But it doesn't," Brienne said. 

  


"No, it doesn't." 

  


Brienne had been in the room when it happened, but had been fighting her own battles. She hadn't seen Cersei's final moments, wasn't there for the horror Jaime must have felt watching the life drain from his sister's eyes. But, of course, it was even more complicated than that. She was not merely his sister and he had believed until mere hours prior that she was carrying his child. 

  


"The Cersei I loved died long before her body," he finally continued. "I know that now. Maybe I knew it then. I certainly knew it when I left King's Landing and rode north, her threats of execution still ringing in my ears. It's strange to grieve for someone unworthy of it but I think, in some ways, I hadn't given up hope that I could still reach her."

  


"Of course you didn't." Brienne can feel the nausea roiling in her gut, the reminder that she will never be more to Jaime than they are now. They are friends, companions, two people that have been through hell and back with one another. But his heart had always belonged and, it seemed, would always belong to a dead woman. "She was your blood."

  


"But that's not precisely why I was out here," Jaime said. Brienne finally turned to him, confused and uncertain once again. He turned to look at her, face soft and relaxed, if not exactly happy. "I was out here thinking how strange it is that she no longer crosses my mind every day."   
  
And there it was, that tiniest flicker of hope in her chest. A small spark she dared not coax into a full flame.

  


"When I first came here, I didn't think there was any way past it," he said. "I didn't think there was any way through that sort of confused grief. I couldn't be sorry that she was dead, but I couldn't help but mourn the loss of a person I had loved my entire life, even if she wasn't who I believed her to be. But it seems your small island has healed me in ways I couldn't imagine."

  


"I'm --" She hesitated. "I'm glad you find yourself settled here. I know it was difficult, at first, to be here against your will." 

  


"Not precisely against my will," Jaime said. "It's true, I didn't react well to being a prisoner once again. But that was my anger at the Queen, my grief, and the loss of everything I had ever known. It was never anger at you or Tarth. I'm sorry I allowed you to believe it was. Your home is beautiful, Lady Brienne."

  


"Thank you," she replied. It seemed silly to thank him on behalf of something over which she had no control, but it meant something that he had grown fond of the place she had made hers once again.

  


She could hear that old teasing tone creeping around the edges as he said, "Though, I confess, there is something that I find wholly disappointing." 

  


"Oh?"  She braced herself for whatever the answer would be, steeling herself for whatever offense he was about to bestow, to divert from the heaviness of their discussion. 

  


"Hmm." He looked once at the view again before turning back to her, his mouth tilted up in a smirk. "I was told the waters of Tarth were incomparable, their sapphire color the most breathtaking part of this island. I can only surmise whoever said that hadn't seen the blue of your eyes." 

  


Brienne flushed; she knew she must be the color of a beetroot from how heated she felt. She looked away from him sharply, unable to stand the look on his face, the tone of his voice. She knew Jaime said these things because he enjoyed how easy it was to make her blush. She wished he wouldn't and yet she wished he would never stop, the brief burst of want and yearning all muddied up with a silly hope and pleasure. 

  


"Jaime," she said, her voice not quite as reproachful as it should have been. She couldn't continue, not even sure what a person should say to such a ridiculous statement, so she only shook her head, a brief disbelieving huff of laughter escaping her. 

  


She started when she felt his hand settle over hers on the mossy grass, his palm hot against the back of her hand. She didn't pull away, though, somehow incapable of denying him whatever small measure of comfort he needed from her. No matter how it made her heart race and thump almost painfully in her breast. 

  


\--

  


**Summer - Year 2**

  


Jaime's hair was an abomination. He hadn't cut in weeks, possibly, in months. It was as long and straggly as it had been when he was first her prisoner all those years ago in the Riverlands, although, much more liberally streaked with grey. His beard, likewise, was out of control. 

  


"I didn't know you were so taken with the Wildlings," Brienne said, resting the oars inside the dinghy. They'd made a habit of rowing off the coast and simply resting in the waves, letting the sea lull them like a mother rocking her babe to sleep. Even in the worst of days immediately after the war, Brienne had found the familiar lapping of salt water and the rolling of waves to be as intoxicating as the heaviest of wines. 

  


Jaime looked over at her between lazy eyelids, his body slack with relaxation. "What?"

  


Brienne reached out and tugged at the long hairs grown from his chin, giving them a sharp little yank that had him jerking away. "You look feral, Jaime." 

  


Jaime scratched his fingers through the beard. 

  


"That's a shame," he said, his eyes flickered about before settling back to look into her own. "I was hoping you found it appealing."

  


Brienne felt that awful twist in her chest, that horrid mixture of hope, anticipation, and the knowledge that she was painting her own meaning on his words. 

  


"Why do you do that?" she asked, unable to hold his gaze and turning instead to the cloudy, grey sky behind him. 

  


"Why do I do what?" he asked in return. She could feel his eyes still steady on her face. 

  


She grunted in frustration, her hands tensing into fists and releasing again. She hated that she was sensitive still.That no amount of knighthood, no level of respect of her people after taking the seat as Evenstar, no distance from the mockery of her youth and adolescence could render her easy and accepting of even well-meant taunts and teases, even though she trusted Jaime more than any other person. 

  


"I wish you would not mock me," she said, finally. "I know that many friends jape with one another, but I --"

  


"I'm not  _ mocking _ you," Jaime said. She rolled her eyes, her jaw still tight, and hands still tensed in her lap. " _ Brienne,  _ look at me." She didn't move, didn't want to see whatever expression she would find on his face. She startled when he reached out and gently pressed on her chin to turn her face back to his. "I'm not  _ mocking  _ you."

  


He seemed so certain, so steadfast that Brienne felt even more confused. She floundered under the weight of yet another simple phrase that felt so close to a declaration. 

  


"Then  _ why _ ?" 

  


"I love you." He said it plainly, incredulously. He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Brienne stared at him blankly, blinking slowly as her mind tried to make sense of those three words, in that specific order, directed her way. "Did you not know?" 

  


"But --" She began and trailed off. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, her ears hollowed out like the sound of a seashell held against them. "You --" She tried again and still couldn't seem to make sense of what he was telling her. 

  


Jaime, who teased her relentlessly, who grumbled about how  _ long _ their walks in the forests seemed to take, who insisted she row because she was broader than him anyway. Jaime, who said things to her that made her stomach feel bottomless, who had long since stopped laughing at the stain of red that would flush her cheeks when he complimented her and she let herself believe it. Jaime, who was leaning toward her, a look on his face that she dared not name. 

  


His lips pressed against hers softly, a chaste, closed-mouth caress that left her briefly numb with the overwhelming  _ oddity _ of it all. Jaime's beard scratched against the tender skin of her chin. It was when his hand grabbed at her waist, seemingly to pull her closer that her mind snapped into action. She jerked away from him with such force that she had only a moment of horror before she found herself tipped into the chilly waters of the ocean, her nose immediately flooding with the sea. 

  


They were still in the shallows off the coast, the water no more than chest height for her and Jaime, so she quickly spluttered to a standing position, soaked through. She could already feel the chill settling through her layers of wool and linen. Then the sound hit her ears and she wiped the stinging water out of her eyes to find an equally drenched Jaime. He was  _ laughing _ . Not the acerbic, caustic laugh of someone who laughed so they didn't scream. Not the dry, disingenuous laugh of someone who was cruelly taunting. No, this was a laugh she'd never heard from him. A laugh that somehow sounded like the first blessedly cool breeze of autumn after the suffocating warmth of summer. 

  


Brienne felt it then, more painfully clear than ever before. She loved him. She loved him straight down to her bones, she loved him in the network of veins through her entire body, she loved him in every thump of her heart against her breast. And, apparently, unbelievably, it seemed he loved her, too. 

  


He stopped laughing abruptly, his smile faltering. He seemed concerned at the expression on her face, worried, perhaps, that she would reject him cruelly. Instead, she did the bravest thing she had ever done. She had been brave in battle, brave in her pursuit of a goal, brave in her determination to be the best soldier she could be. But she'd never been brave with her heart, with her soul, with the soft, fragile bits within her that she protected ruthlessly. But she knew in that moment, with salt beginning to crust in that unruly beard, and his eyes glinting with an easy joy she had never seen before, she knew that he wouldn't crush those tender parts of her. 

  


So she was brave as she walked the short distance to him. She was brave as she cupped his face in her hands. She was braver still when she kissed him, fully and hotly and desperately. She could feel Jaime grin against her mouth as he clutched at her waist, dragging her even closer into him, gripping her as if he never intended to let go. And in the bravest moment of Ser Brienne of Tarth's life, she whispered, "I love you," against his mouth and kissed him again.

  
  



End file.
